


Fractured Fingers

by WinchesterWarrenSon



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - Amnesia, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Bill Cipher, Asexual Relationship, Demisexual Stanford Pines, Demonic Possession, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5399030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinchesterWarrenSon/pseuds/WinchesterWarrenSon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill has no memory of what or who he is or of his plan to take over the world. He doesn't even know how that's possible. But he's still a knowledge demon, and Stanford summons Bill. So they make a deal: until Ford dies, Bill will give Ford the secrets of the universe in exchange for helping retrieve Bill's lost memories. Ford ends up falling in love. Bill doesn't know what this "love" is, but it's entertaining. Things become decidedly less Cloud 9 for Bill when Ford's twin brother Stan shows up, per their mother's request, to check up on Ford. You'd think no one had never seen bruises or broken arms before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just got into GF and started shipping BillFord, and the more I think about them the more they kinda remind me of my aunt and uncle so . . . this happened. For those of you who dislike the sexual aspects of any ship involving Bill, not to worry! Bill couldn't be more disinterested in the reproduction system of humans. Mostly because Bill has a lot of personality traits of this pedophile who took advantage of me when I was a kid/teenager and I start feeling super weird when Bill is placed in sexual situations. (Sometimes even the fact that I like Bill as a character makes me feel weird, but that's neither here nor there.) But as someone who has had a few online relationships/friendships that took on an abusive shade after a while, the emotional/psychological aspects of relationships is infinitely more interesting to me anyway. This'll be fun! I promise!

Bill Cipher knew he didn't have a physical body, so he had no idea how he could have possibly procured amnesia. But he had no idea what he was, where he came from, or what he was doing on this dimension. It seems that this "Stanford Pines" had summoned him. Bill racked his . . . brain? for a reason why that would happen. 

He had a _lot_ of information in that noggin of his, but nothing like what he was, where he came from, or what he was doing there. 

That felt like it was weird and impossible, and Bill didn't like the fact that he knew it should be impossible but couldn't remember why he knew it shouldn't be possible. 

The person who had summoned him was staring around, trying to see if anything had happened. 

Bill recognized that it was a human from the dimension 46'\\. But how did he know that? 

He sighed heavily. This didn't make any sense. 

Either way, this Stanford couldn't see him right then. He'd have to enter his dreams later. 

So for now, Bill floated around and watched Stanford do his thing. Studying. Trying to get experiments to work. Researching. 

He was cute. In the way that dogs were cute to humans. 

Eventually, the man fell asleep leaning against a tree. Bill lowered himself into Stanford's brain.

Ha ha ha ha, Bill thought to himself. Stanford was a _serious nerd_. Even in his sleep, he was doing nothing but mathematical equations, investigating weird stuff, and the like. 

"Heya, Smart Guy!" Bill greeted. 

Stanford turned around, eyes widening and his mouth falling open a little bit. Bill resisted the urge to laugh a bit to himself. Even though he couldn't remember what he was doing here, messing with this guy sounded fun. He vanished, then reappeared behind Stanford. Stanford jumped as he realized that Bill was behind him. "Whoa, don't have a heart attack, you're not 92 yet!" 

How did he know that was when Stanford was going to die? Oh well. He'd figure it out eventually. He hoped. 

"W-who are you?" Stanford asked. 

"The name's Bill. I think. And you're Stanford Pines! Uh. I somehow know you're a very important person who is going to change the world as we know it." 

"Somehow?" 

"Yeah.... You summoned me, right?" 

"Y-yes! Yes, I think I did! With the incantation on the cave wall?" 

"Yeah, that's it! So . . . what did the cave wall say I was supposed to do again?" 

"Uhh... It said you had unfathomable depths of knowledge and wisdom." 

"Well, that is true! There's lots of stuff rolling around in my head!" 

Stanford furrowed his eyebrows a bit. 

"I'm sensing a but here." 

"Eh heh heh. Well, yes, I suppose there is. Y'see.... why don't we have a game of inter-dimensional chess while having a cup of tea while I explain?" 

Bill popped the chessboard into existence, then also did the same with a teapot and teacup. 

He pulled Stanford up a chair, and Stanford got comfortable. 

"The tea is literally the best tea you can imagine! 'Cause we're in your head and all that." 

Stanford took a sip, then laughed a bit to himself. 

"You're right." 

"Of course I'm right!" 

"But as you were saying?" 

"Right. Well, uh, this is kind of embarrassing, but something that I don't remember happened, and I can't really remember basic things like where I come from, what species I am, and stuff like that. I can remember literally everything there is to know about the universe aside from who I am, what I was doing before you summoned me, and everything connected to my whole identity. So. I feel like there's something very specific I was supposed to do with you, but I have no idea what it is." 

They started playing the chess game as they talked. 

"That is very peculiar. But from my research, it says that you are a god of some kind. A knowledge god. So that must have something to do with it." 

"Mmmm, perhaps." Though Bill now had images and information about knowledge gods rolling around in his head, and that didn't really seem to be the accurate description for him either. He would keep that to himself for now, though. 

"Hey, why don't I help you? In exchange for you helping me?" 

"You mean like a deal?" 

"Yeah!" 

A deal sounded like a good idea. 

A deal sounded familiar somehow.... 

"All right. So in exchange for helping me figure out who and what I am and where I come from, I help you with . . . ?" 

"My research! Learning the secrets to the universe!" 

"I can do that." 

Bill's hand burst into a blue flame, and he held it out to Stanford. 

He felt like this was normal. 

Stanford showed no reservations for reaching out and grabbing a hand that was burning blue. Bill had some knowledge of fire and humans and decided that despite that big brain, Stanford was a little ridiculous and impulsive to the point of looking stupid sometimes. 

This sounded fun. Bill felt like he liked fun. What kind of fun, he still couldn't remember, but he'd figure it out. 

"It's a deal! Friend!" 

Friend. 

That sounded nice too. Bill didn't know if he had any friends. He couldn't remember any. 

Yes. He was looking forward to having fun with his new friend.


	2. Chapter 2

At first, helping Stanford was honestly kind of boring. Bill wasn't yet sure what he was capable of, really. If he thought of it, he'd be able to answer his own questions. But the problem was _thinking_ of what he was capable of. 

What he mostly knew was that he could really only interact with Stanford while Stanford was asleep. And that was really, really annoying. The man took cat naps, never eight full hours of sleep. So it was an hour or two here, another hour or two there, in between long bouts of science stuff that Bill had to watch and give no input to. It was really, really annoying! 

But he couldn't say that Stanford wasn't keeping up his end of the deal. With each new discovery he made about a new fantastical creature, he shared it with Bill and crossed it off the list of things Bill could be. So far, their list consisted of "What Bill Could Be" and "Definitely Nots." On the list of "Could Be" was god, faerie, muse, and a few other things. 

Something tickled at the back of Bill's brain as he saw the word 'demon' on the page. 

"So these are all the creatures you think I might be, huh?" Bill said once they were back in Dream Land. 

"Yes. Well, I don't really think you're a demon, but it's a possibility. But you've been so helpful and kind and such a genuinely good friend to me that I really doubt that one's true." 

"Ha ha, you're funny. What's so kind about what we've been doing? I've just been helping you with some math problems, no biggie." 

"No, Bill, you don't understand how monumental your help has been! I'm sure it's because of the amnesia that you don't realize the magnitude of what you've been helping me with - I mean, seriously! Who else would've thought to put the infinity symbol in that spot!? I really think this invention I came up with is going to really help me understand the source for the oddities here in Gravity Falls!" 

"What's that portal doo-hicky supposed to do again?" 

"It's going to locate the source of the weirdness! I've already made the calculations - with your help of course - and I've decided that it has much less to do with the toxic waste in the water and much more to do with this place having a thinner barrier between this realm of reality and another reality where everything is so much different!" 

"Huh. That makes sense." 

Bill felt like he should know something about what was on the other side of the portal or barrier or whatever, but he just couldn't recall what was there. 

But his brain was rolling through the information he had about alternate universes and dimensions. 

"There's actually a lot more dimensions than just one, Fordsy. There's, like, an infinite number of dimensions, some of which would make even your stomach twist into knots just by looking at it." 

That just made Stanford look more excited. 

It was cute. Again, in that kind of 'your pet is doing something silly' way of being cute. 

"I'm serious, your skin might literally melt off in some of them, so you might wanna be careful. Though I admit I'm curious to know what that would look like." 

Stanford laughed. Bill didn't know why. It hadn't been a joke. Whatever. Humans seemed to be very strange creatures. 

He liked them. Or at least this one. 

Stanford sighed after laughing. 

"I just wish there was a more efficient way to talk to you. Only being able to get your feedback while I'm asleep isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sometimes I forget what you've told me and I hate how stupid that makes me feel." 

"Yeah, and I get bored waiting for your insomniac butt to go to sleep. And even then, it's still not very long. You have no idea how annoying it is to have to wait to be able to talk to someone when they're _standing right there_ in front of you." 

"Hmmm.... There must be a way around that." 

"Wanna play a game while you figure it out?" 

"Sure. Though I'm getting a little bored of chess, aren't you?" 

"Eh. I could go for anything, really." 

"Have . . . have you ever heard of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?" 

"Nnnope!" 

"Would you like to try playing that one?" 

"Sure, why not?" 

After Bill was enlightened on the rules, Bill swore that this human couldn't become any bigger of a nerd. 

He also decided that, while he was certainly winning, the game was too nerdy for his own tastes and he despised it in quick haste. 

The stupid smile on Stanford's face did not change his mind. 

Though as they were playing, Bill threw the dice and announced in a bored tone, "My character, ah, I dunno, possesses your character's body and makes him murder all his comrades." 

Stanford examined the number of the dice roll, then laughed nervously. 

"Well, that certainly destroys my character's sense of self and plunges him into a pit of despair," Ford said. 

"Ooooh! Fun!" 

Ford laughed again, and then his eyes widened, as though he had just thought of something. Had the man finally noticed Bill wasn't making jokes about his desire and enjoyment of destruction, death, and bodily torture? 

"Maybe that's it!" 

"Maybe . . . what's it?" 

"Bill, do you know if you can possess people's bodies?" 

Bill stared at Ford for a moment. 

"Well, I can certainly try it! So only one way to find out, really!" 

"You can possess mine as a test run! When I wake up, and I'll catalogue our findings afterwards!" 

"Yeah, sure, whatever, Smart Guy!"

They finished the game of Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons (and Bill decided he would never play that again, that was _so boring_ ). Bill felt the familiar itching of Ford waking up. The dreamscape that they were in was fading into white, and Bill took that as his time to leave. 

Once Ford was awake, he made himself a pot of coffee (why was beyond Bill), then he sat at the table with his coffee cup in front of him on the table. The journal was nearby. 

"All right, Bill! I'm assuming you can hear me right now. I actually don't know if you're able to hear me at all when you're not in my head." 

"Don't worry, Sixer, I can hear you," Bill said. Though Ford could not hear him right then. Huh. That was a problem, the very one they were trying to fix. 

"I'm ready! If you're able to, now's the time!" 

Ford was clearly excited, what with how he was practically shaking with the emotion. Bill furrowed his brow in concentration, then took a breath. 

If his vast amounts of knowledge were to be believed (which they could be, as far as Bill was aware), then all he had to do was.... 

He lowered himself into Ford's body, and soon he felt the caffeine and adrenaline and excitement thrumming through Ford's blood, in his bones and skin. He could see out of two eyes and taste the remnants of Ford's coffee in the mouth, smell the coffee aroma with Ford's nose, and Bill let out a shout as he jumped to his feet. 

"Oh my gosh this is incredible, I feel like I could run a thousand miles, _holy cow what is in that coffee stuff_ , ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" 

Bill started jumping up and down. Ford's brain felt super wired, and Bill didn't know how the man didn't behave all the time like Bill was now. He had no memory of ever feeling this way before. 

There was a vague pain in Ford's brain, though Bill was too hyper to give any thought to what that could've been caused by. 

"You did it! You actually did it!" Ford said. Bill could hear him floating above him somewhere. Bill couldn't really be bothered with thinking about it. 

Bill was still laughing, and he smacked Ford's face with both hands, hard, then continued laughing. 

"Uh, Bill, I can't pick up the journal and write it myself, so if you could give me my body back just for a bit, then I can - " 

But Bill wasn't listening. He stopped jumping, then started to run around the kitchen in circles, having no sense of direction outside of wanting to burn off as much of this energy he felt as possible. 

Everything in this human body felt so electric. 

"Bill, look out!" 

Bill ran head-first into the wall. But he just kept laughing and stopped to hit Ford's head repeatedly against the wall. 

" _Bill!_ What're you doing!?" 

"I don't even know, it feels fun, though!" 

"You're hurting yourself! You're hurting my body, that's not good!" 

"Hurting myself? So this is what pain feels like?" 

Bill continued to laugh. 

"Pain is fun!" 

"Bill, you're worrying me." 

"Aw, c'mon, Sixer! This is such a cool body! Nothing like mine! Two eyes and - holy cow!" 

Bill pulled at Ford's clothes. 

"They're not a part of you! You can take these off?????"

Bill then proceeded to disrobe, a ridiculous grin on his face. 

Ford flushed. 

"Bill, no! Stop!" 

"Just how many clothes are you wearing, Fordsy? What's this even for?" 

Bill tugged at the boxers Ford was wearing. 

" _Please don't take those off!_ " 

Bill laughed. Ford's voice sounded funny when he was panicked. 

Bill decided he liked hearing it that way. 

"No no no _no no no, stop! I'll do anything, just stop!_ " 

Bill complied, but just barely. He didn't bother to pull them back up, but they were technically still being worn. 

"Anything, huh?" 

"Y-yes, anything! Just please stop disrobing in the kitchen and keep my underwear on!" 

"Hmmmmm. What could I get from you, in that case . . . ?" 

Ford swallowed hard, a little worried. 

"Heck, I'll think of something eventually! I wanna try that coffee stuff now!" 

Bill ran to the coffee cup, wearing only Ford's boxers, grabbed it, and proceeded to pour its contents over his eyes. Ford screamed in shock, grimacing. 

"Why did you do that?!" 

"That's how I eat in my body! My eye and my mouth are the same! Huh, funny, none of it got in my mouth that way!" 

"Of course it didn't, that's not how my body works! That was really hot! And it'll probably give me an eye infection!" 

"Ooooh, what's that like!?" 

Ford grumbled. "If it happens, I'll be _sure_ to let you experience it for me." 

"Awesome!" 

Ford shook his head, but after a moment, he couldn't help but laugh. 

"It's almost like you're a very inexperienced child and not a centuries-old knowledge god," Ford said. "Or . . . whatever you are." 

Bill laughed. 

"How do you know they're not one in the same?" 

Ford paused for a moment, then seemed to give it some serious thought. 

"Then again, how would I know that, either? I don't remember anything! Ha ha ha ha ha!" 

Ford still thought about it, though, and he was only brought out of it when Bill pulled out forks and started to try to stab himself with them.


	3. Chapter 3

Stanford was getting used to waking up with his body aching and in pain. He almost wasn't taking any notice of it anymore. Almost. 

It mostly caused problems when he tried to do simple stuff. Open soda cans, for instance. He'd completely forget that his cuticles were badly damaged until he tried to open a soda can. Then the pain was radiate up his hand, bringing tears to his eyes. 

But that didn't matter. 

Bill's voice echoed through the Shack, even if he couldn't see him now. Ford wasn't sure if Bill was just able to talk to him or if Bill's powers were expanding, but he supposed the only way to find out would be to expose Bill to other people. See if they noticed him. 

But not right now. He'd wait until the black eye had healed up. 

It wasn't like he didn't know what Bill had done to his body while he had slept. Bill talked about it extensively and gushed about how durable Ford's body was. How amazing pain felt to him and how it was like to feel sensations like hair growing and fingernails and teeth chewing food. 

The way Bill went on and on was kind of cute. Which was the only reason Ford was able to see an upside to this. But he supposed that was enough of one.

"Just don't hurt any of my vital organs. You'd kill me that way." 

"That's like the heart and lungs and brain and stuff, right?" 

"Yes, and anything that would bleed profusely. Actually, let's just avoid stabbing my body with anything really sharp. You might accidentally cut too deep or something." 

"But I can still stab you with those forks in the drawer, right?" 

"I - I suppose. I guess." 

Ford didn't like pain, but he was getting a lot in exchange for Bill getting to do whatever he wanted with his body. 

The knowledge that Bill was able to tap into was extraordinary, and Ford was able to put so much information into his journals. 

But something was still missing. No matter how much knowledge Bill gave him, building this portal he had come up with with Bill's help wasn't the easiest thing to do when only one of them had a corporeal body. When only one of them could actually hold things and use screwdrivers. 

In short, it was a two-person job, at the very least. And Ford knew just who to contact. 

"Fiddleford McGuckit, here. Oh! Stanford! It's great to hear from you?" 

Ford told him about what his project was and if Fiddleford would be willing to help, and Fiddleford agreed. He'd be up in Oregon as soon as he could. 

"Who's Fiddleford McGuckit?" Bill asked. 

"Friend from college. He's been trying to get this 'laptop computer' project to work, but he's wasting his time. It's much better well spent helping us with the portal." 

"And . . . whyyyyy do we need help?" Bill said. 

"Because you don't have a physical body and I need someone who can hold things in their hands." 

Ford felt like Bill was giving him a side-eye look. 

"Are you worried about something?" Ford asked. 

"No. . . . I don't know." And it was the truth. Bill didn't actually know why he felt like Fiddleford McGuckit being here wasn't a good idea. 

"Well, don't worry about it. Fiddleford is a really good friend. He's trustworthy. Though . . . he might freak out if he meets you. He's from a real Christian part of the South and kind of sensitive." 

Ford seemed to think about it for a minute, then just shrugged and continued to drink his coffee. 

Bill was very much giving him a disapproving side-eye, but Ford couldn't see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a confession to make: I am not a very good author, but I hope you're enjoying it anyway. Probably gonna make the chapters for this fic short chapters so I can update more frequently. Worry about transitions less. That kind of thing.


	4. Chapter 4

Fiddleford McGucket had expected many things when Stanford Pines had called him up to come work with him in Gravity Falls. 

He expected their work to be regarding anomalies because that was Ford's specialty. 

He expected Gravity Falls to be cold in winter, so he had packed plenty of coats and jackets and turtlenecks. 

He expected Ford to not be all that different from when they had been in college together. It hadn't been that long ago, after all. 

And yet, here he was, standing on Ford's front porch, staring at the man in front of him in shock. 

Stanford Pines wore clothes that looked like they had been through the wringer - leaves and a few sticks were attached to the shirt and lab coat he was wearing - and he was sporting a giant black eye. His chin was covered in a crusty scab, and there was a spot on the man's head that was missing some hair. It looked far less full than the rest of his head did. 

"Stanford, what happened?" Fiddleford asked, concern evident in his voice. 

"Oh, it's nothing, just an accident that happened with exploring the local anomalies in their natural habitats," Ford said. "Come in, come in." 

Ford fixed Fiddleford some coffee and showed him around the house, where the kitchen and bathroom were, where Fiddleford would sleep while he was there, and where the work area was in the basement. He went over his research with Fiddleford, filling him in on so many of the weird things he had found in Gravity Falls.

It was a lot to swallow all at once. But none of the weirdness was able to really distract Fiddleford from the state Ford was in. 

Especially when he'd roll his sleeves up, and Fiddleford would see more wounds. Fresh with bandages on them. 

"Is that infected? Have you gotten it looked at?" Fiddleford asked. He tried to take Ford's arm into his hand to get a better look at it, but Ford pulled away. 

"It's fine, I promise. Now, the goal of the portal is...." 

Fiddleford was worried. But he was still a guest in Ford's home, and maybe as time wore on, Fiddleford would be able to help Ford take better care of himself. 

Bill hovered over them as Ford introduced Fiddleford to the topic. His eye turned red when he saw Fiddleford touch Ford's arm. The only reason he didn't blow up was because Ford had pulled his arm away from his scientist friend. 

Bill didn't like him. He didn't like Fiddleford at all. 

But Ford said he was necessary. And he knew that Ford wasn't lying to him. He'd be able to tell if he was. At least, Bill was pretty sure he could do that. He could do that, right? 

He'd have to been an _eye_ on this Fiddleford McGucket. If he tried to get too close to _his_ Stanford, he'd have another thing coming.


	5. Chapter 5

After a long day of working on Ford's research and getting caught up with what Ford's goal was and what he was doing in Gravity Falls, Fiddleford insisted he help with changing Ford's bandages. 

"It just looks like a lot for you to take care of by yourself," Fiddleford said. 

"Oh, all right," Ford said, not sounding hesitant but like he found the bandages and wounds to be an unnecessary hassle. 

"So what did this to you again?" Fiddleford asked as Ford shrugged off the lab coat. 

"Oh, the local paranormal wildlife. There's so many different creatures, it'll take a really long time to catch you up on what all of them are, but for starters there's the Gremloblin," Ford said, and he babbled a mile a minute about each of the different creatures. 

But Fiddleford was barely listening as he took in what all of the injuries were. 

He had puncture wounds all over one arm, but the other was cut up as though someone had taken a knife to it and had enjoyed seeing what kinds of pictures they could make on Ford's skin. Ford had never had a self harm addiction in college, but Fiddleford wasn't a complete stranger to what self-inflicted wounds looked like. With the angles of the cuts, it didn't really look like someone else had done this to Ford. 

But the black eye certainly indicated some kind of a fight. As did the missing clump of hair and the scrape on his chin. 

"Stanford, what aren't you telling me?" Fiddleford asked. 

Ford shrugged. 

"I'm doing my best to tell you what's been happening and what I've been doing. It'll take quite a while to tell you _everything_ , especially since I can't quite just pluck every detail from my memory in one fell swoop."

Fiddleford felt like that wasn't the reason why this felt so strange. 

The first week was busy, but otherwise rather uneventful. Well, that wasn't true, but compared to what started happening at the end of the week, it was uneventful. 

There were gnomes and faeries and even unicorns and monsters that went bump in the night, and there was discovering that Ford had too little food in the refrigerator. 

When asked when the last time he had gone grocery shopping was, Ford had gotten rather sheepish. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Ford avoided making eye contact with Fiddleford. 

"I . . . I was meaning to go when I had started to look more . . . hospitable," Ford said. 

It was confirmation that Ford wasn't completely ignorant of the way that he looked, but it hurt to hear the way his voice cracked just a little bit. 

Ford didn't look _unhappy_. His work was important to him, and he got so happy and excited over it. But sometimes Fiddleford would ask about something, something that was about basic self-care or home upkeep, and Ford couldn't keep the embarrassment out of his voice. 

Despite avoiding questions about it when he could, Fiddleford could tell Ford was embarrassed of how banged up he was and how there were a hole in the wall that looked like someone's head had gone through the wood. He was embarrassed by bent-out-of-shape silverware and dirty dishes, one of which still had blood on them. He was embarrassed by his unfinished laundry and the empty refrigerator. 

And his response to that embarrassment was to throw himself deeper into his work. 

The signs that something was wrong - that Ford had somehow gotten worse in his ability to take care of himself since college - were obvious, but Fiddleford didn't actually know what was wrong. 

Mental health had not been either of their areas of study. 

Now, Fiddleford was more open to helping the mentally ill and being kind to them than the average adult man was in the '70s. But his knowledge on the subject was incredibly limited, and he knew he didn't want his friend to go to any kind of institution. Not unless he didn't want to see the man ever again. 

But Fiddleford also couldn't diagnose him or give him medications. He wasn't that kind of doctor. And aside from his complete lack of taking care of himself, he honestly didn't have any symptoms to go off of. 

Until a week or so had passed, and Ford's injuries had been healing quite nicely. 

Fiddleford had been woken in the middle of the night by a loud _bang_ downstairs. Fiddleford grabbed his robe and the closest item he could use as a weapon - his banjo - and slipped the robe on while heading down the stairs. If it was the gnomes again, he swore to - ! 

Banjo at the ready, he went to the kitchen. 

His eyes widened, and he lowered the banjo as he saw it was Ford. 

Ford had his hand splayed on the table, and in the other hand he held a paperweight. 

His laughter sounded bizarre and so unlike him, and it was only interrupted by the pained sounds he made as he brought the paperweight back down onto his hand. 

"Stanford, stop it!" 

Ford made eye contact with him, and the look on his face was horribly out of character. 

The grin was wide, and the eyes looked different somehow. Was it a trick of the moonlight? 

"Hey, Four-Eyes!" 

His voice sounded different too. It was scaring him. The whole thing was scaring him. 

"Good luck patching _this_ up for him!" 

Ford held his hand up. He demonstrated that now he could bend his fingers in ways they weren't supposed to bend. Fiddleford let out an undignified scream. 

Ford laughed more, then suddenly stopped. Ford's eyes drooped, almost closing, and he stumbled backwards. It almost seemed like he was going to completely fall over, but he caught himself and stumbled forward to keep himself standing. 

He hissed in pain, his mouth twisting in a wince. He looked down at his hand, and Fiddleford felt like he was truly watching his friend again instead of a stranger. 

"Fuck," Ford said, cradling his hand and trying to bend his fingers back to how they were supposed to look, but he hissed in pain again and stopped trying. 

"H-hospital, we should get you to the hospital," Fiddleford said, gathering his wits. 

"No! No, I - I can't, I can fix this!" 

"Stanford, your hand is broken, and neither of us have a medical degree!" 

It took a bit of arguing, but Fiddleford convinced him to go. 

Neither of them really had an explanation to give the doctor, even after the hours the ride to the hospital took. (There wasn't a hospital in Gravity Falls.) Ford told them he had had an accident with a heavy blunt object. 

The hospital wasn't required to ask them questions on how exactly it happened. So they didn't. 

Ford ended up falling back asleep on the car ride back to Gravity Falls. Fiddleford wanted to ask him what had happened and what he remembered, but he also knew the man needed sleep. 

As he dreamed, Bill popped in to talk to him. 

"That really hurt, Bill," Ford said, frowning. 

"It felt _amazing_ ," Bill countered. 

"And now Fiddleford will have to do the building of the portal by himself until my hand heals. If I wasn't ambidextrous - " 

"But you are, and that means your research won't actually stop! I'm not stupid, I know how important that is to you, Fordsy!" 

Ford pouted, and Bill laughed. 

"I couldn't help myself, Sixer! It feels so good, and you're so cute when you're in pain, too! It's a win/win for me!" 

"Cute?" 

"Yeah! Like your little pout right here! Who wouldn't want to see that more often?" 

Ford blushed, and there was a weird half-smile on his face. That was cute, too. 

"Don't sweat the small stuff, Fordsy. Your hand will heal, and then I can beat up some other part of your body, both for my own physical pleasure and to watch your cute little face change. In exchange, I've got secrets of the universe for you!"

"All . . . all right." 

Bill laughed. It was so easy to get Ford to go along with what he wanted to do. 

"But try not to scare Fiddleford next time. In fact, don't let Fiddleford see it at all." 

"Why not?" 

"Because he'll worry and take me to the hospital again. It's embarrassing." 

"I'll see what I can do." 

Honestly, Bill wanted to scare Fiddleford. He still didn't like him, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. 

But Fiddleford taking _such good care_ of Ford's injuries was certainly getting on his last nerve.


	6. Chapter 6

Fiddleford stayed rather shaken and worried about Ford after the night with the broken hand. But it would be far from the only time he'd be worried about Ford. 

The second worrying instance was different from the first, but somehow scarier for Fiddleford, though perhaps from a logical perspective, that didn't make any sense. 

Fiddleford had overheard Ford talking to someone. 

"No, Bill, we are not going to use the flamethrower we built to take care of the snow to torch the gnome village." 

Fiddleford couldn't hear a response, but Ford acted like he had received one. 

"Because there's nothing we would benefit from that! The gnomes are more useful to my research alive and not terrified of me and Fiddleford!" 

More silence. 

Stanford sighed heavily. 

"Do you really want to burn something that badly?" 

A shorter silence, quickly followed by panic in Ford's voice. 

"No no no, wait, wait, I didn't say that - _please don't_ \- !" 

Then nervous laughter from Ford. 

"Ha ha, you - you got me, ha ha.... But seriously, please don't set any part of me on fire. Especially my boxers." 

Fiddleford peered around the corner to try to see who Ford might be talking to. Maybe his hearing was just off..... 

But no. Ford was alone in the living room. 

"W-what's under them? I - It's nothing important, just - just the body parts I use to, y'know, urinate and defecate, it's not at all interesting. It's just very sensitive, and definitely a do-not touch or harm zone, understand?" 

A pause. 

"No, it won't kill me, but living without those body parts wouldn't be fun." 

Another pause. 

"Wait, you don't? But I've seen you drink margaritas. Doesn't the excess waste go somewhere?" 

Fiddleford frowned as the conversation seemed to change. 

"No, I don't want you to get me drunk. I have no interest in killing any of my brain cells! Bill, how many times do I have to explain that my body does not regenerate? I can't grow back limbs or fingers or brain cells. All extreme damage is _permanent_ and off the table! You know that, and you can't make me change my mind!" 

Then Ford's voice got less certain of itself. 

"I - I know I changed my mind about the hand thing and the forks, I . . . I know I did, but I'm serious this time, it's non-negotiable. Stop laughing!" 

It was still silent aside from Ford. 

"Stanford?" Fiddleford finally said. 

Ford jumped a few inches off the ground, then whirled around. His back went stiff, his arms locking at his sides. 

"How - how long have you been there?" Ford asked. 

"Not very," Fiddleford lied. "Are you all right?" 

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine!" 

Fiddleford didn't believe him, and he had a feeling Ford knew he wasn't fooling anyone. 

"Who's Bill?" Fiddleford asked, hesitant. 

Ford's eyes widened, and Fiddleford watched as his eyes darted around the room, as though trying to find a physical way out of the conversation. 

Or maybe he was watching something Fiddleford couldn't see. 

"He's my friend," Ford said quietly. 

Soft-spoken words were not ordinarily something Fiddleford associated with his friend. 

"Okay," Fiddleford said. He swallowed hard, not sure how to go about this. "Well, your . . . friend wouldn't mind if we went out for dinner, would he?" 

All of these frightening instances were happening inside the house. Maybe getting outside would help Ford. 

He was having hallucinations that were trying to convince him to harm others and had convinced him to hurt himself and . . . this hallucination also had a personality that could overtake Ford's actual body. Was it a split personality or something else? Schizophrenia? 

Ford was clearly mentally ill, and he was becoming dangerous, though Fiddleford wasn't afraid for his own safety yet. 

Over dinner, as he tried to keep Ford engaged in positive conversation, Fiddleford mulled over his options. 

He had to get in contact with someone who knew Ford better than he did. Someone who knew the mental health history of his family. Knew what Ford's mental condition had been throughout childhood and adolescence. 

He had to get into contact with Ford's parents. He was pretty sure Ford had an address book on the desk in the living room. He'd just have to look and see who he could call.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk why, but there seems to be an AO3 glitch where the chapter 4 end of chapter author notes keep appearing at the bottom of the newest chapter. While everyone should be aware I am not guaranteed to update often, I am getting very, very closer to the parts I wanted to write in the first place, so this MAY be updated more often as a result.

The next day, Fiddleford woke up before Ford and went to the address book. He flipped the pages, only to discover that most of the pages had contact info for professors and grant writers. 

"C'mon, you gotta have some personal contacts," Fiddleford said, noticing his own contact info before flipping to the next page. 

Ford had to have a family and other friends, right? 

It took a while to find it, but he finally found a scribble with a number and the word "Ma" on it. 

Fiddleford picked up the phone and put his finger underneath the number to make sure he was punching it in right. 

It rung once before she picked up. 

"Psychic hotline, what can I help ya with?" 

Fiddleford sat in surprised silence for a minute. 

"Hello? It's 99 cents an hour." 

"Is this Stanford Pines's mother?" 

"Who is this?" 

"Fiddleford McGucket, I work with Stanford. I was calling because I needed to talk to someone about . . . about his well being. Um, is there a non-work number I can call you at?" 

"The other number connects to the pawn shop. You might get his father before I can reach it in the other room." 

"Would . . . that not be good?" 

"Eh, he probably won't be very cooperative. You callin' from a pay phone?" 

"Stanford's landline." 

"I'll call ya back, then." 

Fiddleford hung up, then waited by the phone. She called back quickly. It rang once, and Fiddleford answered. 

"So what about Stanford's well being?" 

Fiddleford took a deep breath. 

"I wanted to ask you what his behavior was like when he was younger. Had he ever . . . had he ever had an overly active imagination? Have an imaginary friend? Anything like that?" 

"He doodled a lot in his notebooks. Little aliens and monsters and faeries, stuff like that. But no, no imaginary friend. He played with his brother the whole time." 

"He has a brother?" 

Ford had never, ever mentioned having a brother to Fiddleford. 

"Yeah, his twin brother Stanley...." 

She trailed off, and Fiddleford had picked up on the hint of sadness when she had said his name. 

"What happened to him?" 

". . . Stanley's been traveling around the world and hasn't been home." 

That didn't really give Fiddleford much to go on, but at least he wasn't dead. 

"So Stanford had never showed signs of having . . . hallucinations? Seeing things that aren't there?" 

"I know what a hallucination is, and no. Why?" 

"I . . . I don't want to frighten you, but Stanford has been . . . having trouble. I'm just trying to find out if this is a recent development or something he's struggled with all along. Because he didn't act like this when we were rooming together in college, but...." 

Stanford's mother was silent for a while. 

"What else do you need to know?" she asked. 

"Has Stanford's personality been consistent? Has he ever . . . had severe mood swings or any personality shifts?" 

"Not that I ever saw...." 

That was some good news. This was not Stanford's usual. This meant that something had happened, something had changed. Had Stanford had a nervous breakdown, and this was the result? 

"Is there anyone else in your family who ever behaved that way? Mood swings, hallucinations, behaving as though they're a different person sometimes?" 

"Well," she started, but Fiddleford never heard the rest of it. 

The bash to the head threw Fiddleford out of the chair, and the world blurred around him for a moment. 

Adjusting his glasses, he turned to see Ford standing over him. His eyes had somehow become a bright yellow with weird slits for pupils. 

" _What'cha doing there, Four Eyes_?" Ford asked him. 

"Hello?" came Ford's mother's voice from the speaker. 

Ford picked the phone up and put the receiver to his ear. 

"Y'ello?" 

Fiddleford could faintly hear her response. 

"Who is this?" 

"Name's Bill! Who're you?" 

Fiddleford couldn't hear the response, but Ford (Bill?) laughed. 

"Ah, don't worry about a thing, doll face! Sixer's _just_ fine!" 

Fiddleford grabbed the phone, and he and Ford (Bill?) fought for it. 

" _Mrs. Pines, Bill is Ford's second personality, don't trust him_!" 

Ford/Bill pulled hard on the phone, but Fiddleford pulled back. 

"Second personality? What's that, some kind of nerd insult?" 

Ford/Bill's grip on the actual phone was lost, but he grabbed the chord that connected it to the rest of the phone and pulled hard. The chord popped right out of the receiver, making it useless. It also made Fiddleford fall backwards, his back hitting the wall. 

"Y'know, I've been kinda curious. Do all humans react to pain the same way? I say we find out!" 

Fiddleford dodged the punch that was thrown at him, then ran into the kitchen. 

Fiddleford wasn't willing to hurt Ford, but he wasn't going to let himself get beaten up. 

Ford/Bill found a knife in the kitchen, though Fiddleford wasn't one-hundred percent certain the man knew how to use it. 

Fiddleford found his banjo again. 

It was a weird fight. Ford/Bill enjoyed the pain Fiddleford was inflicting, so there would be moments where Ford/Bill would just _let_ Fiddleford hit him repeatedly before retaliating, but he would put up just enough of a fight so that Fiddleford didn't have enough time to just run out of the house. But after a black eye and a few knife slashes in his leg, Fiddleford managed to knock Ford/Bill unconscious and dashed out the door. 

His banjo was beaten up, but he could fix it later. 

But first, he needed to figure out where he was going to stay. 

Meanwhile, Bill and Ford were talking. 

Bill picked at the new marks on Ford's skin that the banjo strings had left. 

"Bill, have you lost your mind!? Why did you do that!?" 

"Who was the lady on the phone?" Bill asked, successfully peeling some skin off. It stung just a bit, and it made Bill excited. 

"My - my mother." 

"Why'd Four Eyes go behind your back like that to call her? What even was all that split personality mumbo-jumbo he was going on about? Hm?" 

Ford hovered in the air above Bill, frowning and looking very uncertain. 

"Fiddleford . . . Fiddleford must think I'm mentally ill. That you're a product of my imagination gone rogue...." 

Bill laughed. 

"That's silly! I'm very real, and we're friends!" 

"Right. Friends...." 

"And real friends don't go tattling to their . . . whatever a mother is! What is a mother?" 

"A mother is someone who gives birth to you...." 

Ford looked uneasy, and he lowered himself to hover over the kitchen table. 

"Bill?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Fiddleford was just looking out for me, right?"

"I dunno, Sixer. If he really trusted you, why not just _ask_ you what's going on? He didn't even bother to ask who or what I _am_ and jumped to his own conclusions. He ignored what you said about me being your friend and told your mother a bunch of lies. Does that sound like looking out for you?" 

"No. I . . . I suppose not. But you shouldn't have tried to hurt him. That wasn't right, Bill." 

"I just wanted to know if he bled like you did." 

"All humans bleed, Bill. All humans feel pain unless they have a very rare medical condition." 

Bill stared at Ford's face, then laughed. 

"Are you _jealous_?" 

"What? No. Of course not." 

"You totally are! You're jealous I was interested in causing someone else pain!" 

"No, I just - I'm upset you tried to hurt him! I don't want you to hurt people! I know it's all fun and games for you, but for the other person, it's really not fun. I know - I know you don't _mean_ any _real_ harm, but it is harmful." 

"Awww, you don't have to sugarcoat it, Sixer! If it really bothers you that much that I'd pay that kind of attention to someone else, I'll definitely keep it to just between you and me! We're best friends after all!" 

The look Stanford was giving him wasn't something Bill could really figure out. But his face looked cute. 

"Best friends?" 

"Yeah! Heck, as far as I can tell, you're my _only_ friend! So of course you'd be my bestie! And I'm _your_ bestie, right?" 

Ford smiled a little bit. 

"It's . . . been a long time since I had a best friend." 

"And besties don't let besties get back-stabbed by visiting scientists! I won't let that guy get in your way anymore." 

"Perhaps it is for the best that Fiddleford doesn't come back...." 

"That's the spirit! Love ya, Fordsy! So whaddya say we down a gallon of coffee with a load of sugar, huh?" 

Ford sat there, incorporeal and speechless as Bill went to make the coffee. 

"Love?" Ford asked faintly, but Bill didn't pay him any mind after he put too much coffee grains into the coffee maker and went ahead and dumped too much sugar into the biggest mug Ford owned.


	8. Chapter 8

Stan Pines wasn't one hundred percent sure how his mother had gotten his phone number, but she had, and he wasn't going to question it. 

Maybe she actually was psychic. Hell if he knew. 

"Hey, Ma. What's going on?" 

His arm itched from the needles he had been stuck with in the mental institution he had just left. 

He wasn't going to tell her about it. Or what he had been in there for. 

He didn't want to scare her. 

"I need you to do something for me, sweetheart," she said. 

Stan grew more cautious. He knew his mother. She had always been kinda selfish, though more so when he and Ford were children. She had been incredibly inattentive when they were little, though Stan did have memories of her taking them with her on grocery shopping outings. The memory of learning that she put her cigarettes out by burning herself with them was forever stuck in his memory as a mix of unpleasantness and awe. 

But she was still his mother, and depending on what it was, he'd do it. 

"What is it?" 

"A friend of Stanford's called me. Had all these weird questions about the family and our general mental health. Then the phone call suddenly cut out while I could hear what sounded like some kind of fight. You're around the west coast area, right?" 

"Yeah...." How did she know that? 

"You'll be able to get there faster than me. Can you make sure he's not dead or something? He's not answering my calls." 

"Sure, Ma. I'll check up on him." 

The idea of seeing Ford again gave him some serious butterflies in his stomach. But what Ma said was worrying. 

He wanted to make sure Ford wasn't dead too.

And he didn't exactly like the sound of some stranger trying to assess Ford's mental health. 

After being given the address and pit-pocketing some strangers, Stan headed off to Gravity Falls, Oregon, in his beat-up car. 

He stopped in a place called Greasy's Diner after he arrived, wanting to take care of his stomach first. It wouldn't do to arrive on Ford's doorstep and ask to be fed something. That would just make him look like more of a freeloader than he already was. 

He had no idea why he kept getting this strange look from everyone in the diner. 

"Hiyah, stranger," a young woman with cat earrings said, her smile a little strained. "What'll it be?" 

"Ah.... The egg special with ketchup on the side. And a water." 

The waitress wrote it down, then went to put his order in. 

The people in the diner were still staring. 

Stan found a discarded newspaper in the booth and pulled it up and opened it and hid his face behind it. 

He didn't look up from it until the food arrived, then he focused on his food instead of the prying eyes. 

At least until someone appeared at his shoulder, who wasn't in a waitress uniform. 

"Are you Stanley Pines?" 

Stanley turned his head to look at the person who spoke. A tall, thin man with circular glasses and light brown hair stood there, his clothes a little worse for wear but otherwise not all that note-worthy looking. 

"Who wants to know?" 

"I'm Fiddleford McGucket. I work . . . used to work with Stanford Pines." 

"Oh. You must be the guy who called our ma and made her worried sick." 

Okay, he was exaggerating, but whatever. 

"Is it all right if I - ?" 

He gestured to the seat in front of Stanley. 

"Meh." 

Fiddleford seemed to be rather unsure if that was a "go ahead" or a "no, but then Stanley gestured to the seat. Fiddleford then sat down. 

"I'm afraid I didn't get to talk to your mother as much as I would've liked.... But she told you as much as she could, right?" 

Stanley gave him a rather unimpressed look. 

"That question isn't exactly clear, bucko. All I know is that you started asking super invasive questions about our family history, then suddenly your phone connection cut out. And quite frankly, I don't much appreciate what those questions were about. It's none of your damn business what our mental health history is." 

"I was only asking so I could better take care of Stanford. But then, Stanford made that very . . . difficult. I had to move out, and I just don't want you - or anyone else - to get hurt as well. Stanford hasn't been feeling like himself lately." 

"I'll be the judge of that," Stanley said. 

Stanley finished his food. 

"Check please!" 

Fiddleford then suddenly moved his arm to grab Stanley's, and Stanley leaned away from him to prevent that from happening. 

"You don't understand!" 

Stanley's eyes grew hard, and he stood up, slamming his hand onto the table. 

"I don't know what your deal is, but I don't appreciate your tone _or_ the way you're talking about my brother! And - what, did you tell the whole damn town, and that's why they're looking at me like that!? Is that it!? They think I'm the nutjob you decided to make my brother out to me!? Huh!?" 

"It's not like that, Stanford needs help!" 

"Well, clearly not from you!" 

The waitress quickly came over with his check, and he paid for the food, then stormed out of the diner and went back to his car. 

It was still a little bit of a drive from the town to where Stanford's house was. But he found it easily enough. 

It looked kind of creepy from the outside.... 

Stanley hesitated as he stood on the front doorstep. 

"It's okay. He's family. He won't bite. Just explain that Ma sent you and he might not just turn you away without saying anything...." 

Yeah. Right. 

Stanley reached out his hand and knocked on the door. He braced himself for Stanford's yelling. 

It took an oddly long time for the door to open. 

It opened a crack, and Stan could see Ford's eyes in the crack. 

"H-hey, Ford. It's me. Stanley. M-Ma was worried so she sent me to make sure you hadn't died or something. Heh." 

Something was . . . different about his eyes, but Stanley chalked that up to a variety of reasons. Ford had always been paranoid. The door did open slightly more, though. 

"It's . . . kinda funny that that's why I'm here. Remember when Ma forgot about us and left us behind in New York on a big shopping spree of hers? None of us ever heard the end of Pa's shouting." 

Ford's eyes started to go a bit back to something more familiar, and the door opened wider. 

"Stanley...." 

Stan smiled at him, though he was starting to noticed that his brother was kinda banged up. But while he didn't know it, he wasn't nearly as shocked as Fiddleford had been. 

"Man, something did a number on you. You doin' okay?" 

"Y-yes, I . . . my research is rather . . . bodily." 

Stan laughed. 

"Oh man, Poindexter actually has to exercise. Bet you regret not doing boxing properly when we were kids, huh?" 

Ford laughed a little as well. 

"Yeah...." 

Something was off, though. Stanley understood why he wasn't being invited in, but something just looked so . . . off. 

"Those hicks aren't giving you trouble, are they?" 

"Pardon?" Ford said. 

"The people who live here. Honestly, they were all giving me such a stink eye, and your former roommate gave me a reason to think they thought I was you. Are they being mean to you?" 

Ford opened his mouth, then hesitated, and closed it again. 

". . . Come in, Stanley. I . . . I'll be honest. I've missed you." 

"R-really?" 

"Yeah." 

Ford smiled at him, and that made Stanley smile wider. 

Bill glowered at Stanley from his place hovering in the air. _But_ he didn't seem to be as intuitive as the _other one_. Bill would wait this one out. For now.


	9. Chapter 9

Stan laughed over coffee with Ford. It was getting late, but he was enjoying sharing stories with Ford about what was going on with him. 

With all the crazy things that had happened to him in the past few years, believing in gnomes and monsters wasn't hard to believe at all. 

"Hey, have you met any werewolves? Remember when we'd sneak into movie theatres to watch the R-rated monster flicks?" 

Ford laughed. 

"I do! We kept getting caught, but it was still fun.... No, actually, I haven't met a werewolf yet. But I've been so focused on so many other things, it's entirely possible I just haven't been keeping enough eyes on things." 

"Well, dang, Sixer, it sounds like you've been cataloguing literally everything you come across. No wonder!" 

"Heh heh, well.... I've also been working on another project, but it's been very slow-going since my lab assistant left, and I only have two hands and . . . one of my hands hasn't been healing from an injury all that well...." 

Stan glanced at the hand that Ford had been avoiding using. They were both ambidextrous, so he knew Ford could write just fine regardless, but it still made him feel a little sad to realize that he was having problems with it. 

"How'd it get injured?" Stan asked. 

Ford fiddled with his mug for a little bit before speaking. 

"It got . . . smashed by a heavy weight." 

Stan frowned. 

"Did someone hurt you?" 

Ford was quiet for a while longer. 

"Hey, I can beat them up if you want," Stan said, and Ford laughed a little. 

"That won't be necessary, Stanley. My hand is mostly having trouble healing because I've been trying to use it on the project in the basement." 

"What kind of project?" 

"A . . . big project. It requires a lot of building." 

"Well, if it's building something, if you need help, I could do it until your hand got better. It'd be like the Stan-o-War - you tell me where to hammer, and I take care of it. If - if you want my help, that is. I understand if you don't." 

Ford stared at him for a moment, and Stan started to sweat. 

"I mean, of course you don't, that was a stupid thing to suggest. Sorry, I -" 

"N-no, it's okay.... I just didn't expect you to offer...." 

"I understand if you don't want my help, I just got caught up in . . . in . . . ." 

"Let me think about it?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." 

There was an awkward silence between them, and Stanley felt like he had overstayed his welcome. 

"Well, I should probably get going. Leave you to . . . whatever it is you were doing before I got here." 

"Are you going to stay in Gravity Falls?" Ford asked. 

"For at least the night, yeah. There's no way I'm gonna drive back at this hour." 

"You should come back here tomorrow, then. I'll have an answer by then, and we can have lunch or something." 

"R-really? You want to do that?" 

Ford smiled at him. 

"Yeah. It sounds fun." 

Stanley smiled back at him. 

"All right, then! Any specific time you'd prefer?" 

"After ten, I think is best." 

"All righty then. See ya tomorrow, Sixer." 

"See you." 

Ford led Stan to the door and let him out, then closed the door behind him. 

Ford let out the breath of air he had been holding. 

He leaned against the door and looked up at Bill. 

"What do you think?" Ford asked, hugging himself. 

Bill made thinking noises, mostly to himself, as he floated in the air above Ford. 

"If . . . if you don't want him to help, it won't be a problem to make him go home. He won't have to find out about anything, and he'll leave without a fight. But I need help if I'm going to finish my work, and my work is so important to me, Bill...." 

Bill continued to make thinking noises. 

"What do I get out of it, hmm?" Bill asked. 

"W-what do you want?" 

Bill thought for a long moment, then clapped his hands together. 

"I'll let him stay here if I get to put a body part onto that hot thing on the stove! Like your arm! Or your foot!" 

Ford winced at the thought, but he gave it some consideration and weighed the pros and cons of the arrangement. 

"You can burn my arm," Ford said. 

"It's a deal, then, sweetheart! Sure your brother can help out! But he doesn't get to sleep in the house." 

"All - all right. If he's only here for the duration it takes for my hand to finish healing, then that'll be fine. But if he's here longer than that -"

"Why would he be?" 

"I - I dunno.... Maybe the three of us just end up really liking how we work together?" 

"Hmmmm. We'll see. We can adjust the terms and conditions _if_ the time comes." 

Ford took a deep breath. 

"Awwwww, have I told you just how adorable you look when you're nervous? C'mon and relax, Fordsy! Finish off your coffee, and we can go for a ride!" 

'A ride' meant Bill intended to possess Ford and do almost whatever he wanted. 

"A-actually, can we hold off on that for a while longer? At least until Stan's definitely driven away from the house?" 

"Ugh, fine. I guess that would make sense. Wouldn't want him rushing back here thinking you were dying or something." 

"Y-yeah...." 

Ford then sat in the kitchen and took a few deep breaths. He was so tired and stressed lately.... 

"Why the long face?" 

"I'm just tired, Bill.... Humans get tired." 

"Hey, if you gotta sleep, you should go to bed." 

Ford turned his head up to look at Bill. 

"Hey, it's not like I'm not gonna jump into your dreams and have fun with you there. We can go for a ride some other time. The important thing is that we're having fun!" 

Ford smiled at him. 

"Okay." 

Ford climbed the stairs to the bedroom, then flopped down onto the bed, not bothering to change his clothes or take that bath he rather desperately needed. 

He fell asleep very easily, thoughts swirling around in his brain.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something. I do know where it's going, I'm just . . . going through some stuff. And a little is better than nothing, right?

Stan's mouth fell open as Ford told Stan his decision the next day over coffee and brunch at Greasy's Diner. The weird looks from the patrons were back, but Stan didn't give them any mind at this point. 

"R-really?" Stan asked. 

"Yes. I'll let you help me on my project. And I'll handle any additional hotel fees -" 

"No, no, you don't have to do that!" Stanley jumped in, waving the offer away with his hands. "Don't worry about that at all! Thanks, Stanford! I won't let you down, I promise!" 

"Heh heh. I know you won't." 

Under other circumstances, maybe Ford wouldn't have been so forgiving of what Stanley had done all those years ago. But . . . Ford honestly had gotten lonely. 

He enjoyed Bill's company. He liked the conversations they had. But he . . . was yearning for conversation and attention that didn't somehow involve hurting his feelings or hurting his body. 

He ached all over, and the burn on his forearm still tingled. The kitchen still smelled like the burning of human flesh, and that's why Ford refused to let Stan into the house when Stan arrived. 

He almost hadn't noticed that Stan was wearing the same outfit from yesterday, but then again, so was he. 

He hoped Stan hadn't noticed that, but perhaps if he had, he just hadn't made any judgements on it since he had done the same. 

Maybe this would work out after all. 

Maybe Stanley wouldn't think anything was weird or off or strange. Not like Fiddleford did. 

Maybe Stanley could meet Bill and they'd be friends and get along and Stanley wouldn't have to leave.... 

"When do we start?" 

"As soon as you'd like. We can start as soon as we get back to the house, even." 

"All right!" 

Ford laughed as Stanley then ate in a hurry. 

While he may have tried to deny it in the past, he really had missed his twin brother.


	11. Chapter 11

The first few days of Stanley helping Ford build the portal went fine. Stanley would come over to the house in the mornings, Ford would take him down to the basement, they'd then get to work. Ford would instruct Stan on what to do and Stan would follow the instructions given to him, sometimes asking further questions if Ford hadn't been particularly straightforward or clear. 

Stan then left when they were done for the day, and Ford then talked with Bill, see how Bill was feeling about everything, and relieve any boredom Bill was experiencing. 

And boy, did Bill get bored. 

Sometimes Ford was incredibly distracted by how much Bill complained and whined when he and Stan were working, and it could take a while for Ford to realize Stan had said anything to him. And it took a lot of effort not to snap at Bill when he was doing that. 

He couldn't afford for Stanley to see him talking "to himself." 

"Do you have any idea how _boring_ it is to just watch you two work all day without you talking back to me or laughing at my jokes? C'mon, Sixer, either rip the bandage off and tell him you've got an invisible buddy who talks to you or kick 'im to the curb! I'm _tired_ of this already!" 

Ford could only apologize for it so much. Begging for patience from Bill was all he could really do at this point. 

He wasn't willing to go through what he went through with Fiddleford again. Not with Stanley. 

But the fifth day, Ford discovered something. 

At first, Ford was wondering what had woken him up. 

He looked over at the clock next to his bed and furrowed his eyebrows. Three A.M. . . . ? 

Bill was hovering over him in the air, having been kicking out of his dreamscape by him waking up. His eye was aimed at the window. 

"There's something going on outside," Bill said. 

"Wha-?" 

Ford got up out of bed, rubbing at his eye and grabbing his glasses. 

He went to the window and peered out. His eyes widened as he recognized Stanley's car was parked a ways down the road from the house. He could hear faint yelling and watched as Stanley climbed out of his car. He was yelling at someone standing beside the car and jabbing his finger at whoever it was. Ford couldn't tell from this far away or from moonlight alone. 

Ford hurried from the bedroom and down the stairs, grabbing the gun he had for protection from the kitchen table (probably not the best place for it to be honest) and a flashlight. He burst out of his front door, turned the flashlight on, then ran down the road. 

The light from the flashlight came upon Stanley's car - confirming that it really was Stan's car - and then he turned the light onto the two figures. 

Both squinted with the sudden light flashed onto their faces. He confirmed that one of them was definitely Stanley, and the other was - 

"Fiddleford?" Ford said, confusion and surprise clear in his voice. "W-what're you doing here at three in the morning?!" 

"I was just asking him that!" Stanley said. 

"And what're _you_ don't here at three in the morning?" Ford asked, his reasoning skills catching up to him. 

Stan faltered, and he stammered a little. But Ford stopped caring about the answer when his flashlight moved to something that was in Fiddleford's hand. 

Ford didn't really know what it was. It looked like an oddly shaped light bulb attached to what looked like it might've been a gun at some point. 

Because of the general gun-like shape, it made Ford uneasy. 

"What's going on?" Ford demanded. "What're you doing here, Fiddleford?" 

"S-Stanford, I - " Fiddleford started, then he took a deep breath. "This is for your own good! You need to get help, and making your brother sleep in his car because it's not safe to live with you isn't the way to get it!" 

"Sleeping in his - I haven't been - !" Ford said, but a punch from Stanley into Fiddleford's jaw prevented Ford from finishing his sentence. 

The weird gun thing flew out of Fiddleford's hand and landed harmlessly on the ground. 

"Get the hell off of my brother's property!" Stan shouted. 

Technically they were on the public road to the property, so Fiddleford could very well be on the road, but Ford didn't tell Stanley that. Instead, Ford turned the flashlight onto the car to look inside. 

It was dirty in the car, full of fast food wrappers and dirty clothes. The backseat had been turned into a bed, and there was a pathetic looking pillow and a blanket that looked to be the only thing Stanley had spent a decent chunk of money on that wasn't on the car itself. 

"Stanley, have you been living out of your car?" Ford asked, and he could hear that it was the only reason Stan had stopped beating Fiddleford up. 

Ford turned his head to look at Stanley, and Stanley looked so much smaller than Ford remembered him being ever in their whole lives. 

"You said you had a hotel room -" Ford said, and Stanley shrunk even further. 

"I - I didn't want to be any trouble -" Stanley said, trying to defend his lie. 

Ford knew why he had asked Stanley to not stay in the house, but now he felt absolutely terrible. Stanley had been living out of his _car_ and now that he really thought about it, the clothes and the inside of the car made it obvious that Stanley didn't really have any money and he had made Stan pay for his food whenever they'd leave the house to eat because Ford was too incompetent to go grocery shopping. He had made his broke, homeless brother pay for his meals out four days in a row all because he hadn't gone grocery shopping in two weeks - ! 

Ford went over to Stanley and hugged him tightly. Stanley, taken aback, hesitated before returning the hug. Ford sniffed, trying not to cry. 

"H-hey, Sixer, it's okay. I'm okay," Stan said. 

They both could hear Fiddleford moving away from them, but Ford couldn't bring himself to care. 

"C-come on, I'll - I'll make some coffee and -" Ford said, letting go of Stanley and tugging at his hoodie. 

"What about - ?" Stan asked, gesturing at Fiddleford. 

"Doesn't matter right now," Ford said, pulling Stanley along. 

He had no idea what the object Fiddleford had was, but right now he really didn't care. 

Bill was hovering in the entry way, silently watching as Ford pulled Stan into the house and closed the door behind them. He brought Stan into the kitchen, then started to go about putting together a pot of coffee. 

Stan stood there in the kitchen, watching Ford, unaware that Bill was hovering over his shoulder. 

Ford opened the plastic container that was supposed to have the coffee in it, only to realize that he was out. 

He held the container for a moment or two before tossing it over his shoulder and opening up the cabinets, trying to find another one. 

Stan's eyes widened a bit as he watched Ford search, and for the first time in his time there he truly took in the state of the room. 

The dishes hadn't been done for days it looked like, and Stan couldn't recall Ford ever doing them while he was over here working. 

Ford left the fridge open, and Stan saw that there really wasn't anything in it at all. 

Stan knew Ford had had a bad time taking care of himself when they were kids, but he hadn't thought it would've gotten this bad.... 

"Hey, don't worry about the coffee. How late or early is that diner open?" 

Ford slammed a cabinet shut suddenly, and Stan could hear him trying not to sob. 

"You've been living in your car, and I made you not stay here, and I made you pay for your own food because I can't - !" 

"Hey, hey, it's not a problem. Grocery shopping? We can fix that easy. You've got money, right? It's just a matter of going, then. I'll help, okay? And I'll help you clean up and do the dishes. It'll be like back at home, when Ma was too busy drinking and Pa was too busy working. We can even make it fun, all right? It's nothing to cry over, I'm not mad, honest. And hey, at least you got a house to make messy, eh?" 

Stan frowned as Ford started to actually cry. 

"L-look, you're tired, it's 3 in the morning, and I know you, you totally didn't fall asleep until a few hours ago, right? So let's get you back to bed, and we'll go shopping in the morning, and I'll whip us something up to eat after that, okay?" 

Ford eventually nodded in agreement, and Stan walked Ford up the stairs to his bedroom. 

"'Night, Sixer," Stan said, leaving him in the bedroom alone. 

Or so Stan thought. 

Bill hovered in the air near Ford, looking down at him. 

"I'm a bad brother," Ford said softly, his words garbled by tears and exhaustion. 

"You did save him from that Fiddleford guy," Bill said. "Who knows what that wacky contraption could've done. I told you that guy was bad news." 

"And I'm - I'm embarrassed Stanley had to see what a mess I am...." 

"Hey, he's a mess too. You saw his car." 

"That's not his fault, he's _homeless_ , Bill. It - it's _my fault_ he's homeless." 

Bill didn't say anything in response to that. 

Ford just cried to himself, curling up on the bed. Eventually, exhaustion caught back up with him. He'd be sore in the morning from the position he had fallen asleep in. 

But for a few hours, Bill got his mind off things in the dreamscape. 

For once, there was no talk of torment or torture or hurting Ford's body. Just the science Ford loved to talk about and ideas and plans and funny little stories Bill had no idea if he was making them up or if they were potential memories. 

"It doesn't feel like I'm remembering, but what do I know!" 

Meanwhile, Bill kept thinking. And unlike Ford, who needed sleep, Bill could think as long as he wanted without pause. 

He thought long and hard about what he was going to do about Stanley Pines.


	12. Chapter 12

The weird thing was that Bill swore he had seen the glass bulb gun thing that Fiddleford had had before. But he couldn't recall what it was or what it did. But he knew it was dangerous, and he didn't like it one bit. 

He felt like he had met Stanley somewhere before, but he couldn't recall anything. 

Bill felt like his memories were tantalizingly close to returning to him - or at least some of them - but were just out of reach. 

This Fiddleford and Stanley had something to do with this, and Bill couldn't shake the feeling that they were both bad news. 

But when Ford awoke in the morning, both Ford and Bill went down the stairs to find that Stanley had woken before them and had gone to work cleaning the kitchen. 

It did look nicer than it had before.... 

Stanley popped the dishwasher closed, then turned around and smiled at Ford. 

"I'll get this sucker running, and we can head out to that grocery store. Unless you wanted to eat first? It's 10am, so Greasy's is probably open, right?" 

"W-we can go grocery shopping first," Ford said. 

The two brothers got into the car, and Stanley drove them to the grocery store. Bill followed along. 

He kept an eye on Ford and Stanley as they went around the grocery store, Ford very conscious of the fact that his clothes hadn't been washed in days and Stanley choosing to pretend like people weren't noticing they both looked like hobos. 

The cart they had was getting pretty full, full of milk and coffee and bread and other foods. 

"Hey, Ford, how do latkes sound to you?" Stan asked as he lifted up a sack of potatoes. 

"Like I haven't had them in a very long time," Ford said. 

Stan put the potatoes into the cart. 

"What's a latke?" Bill asked. 

"Potato pancake," Ford supplied without thinking, too busy trying to think of what they should buy and how much he could actually afford. 

"You say something?" Stan asked. 

Ford flushed and ducked his head. 

"N-no, I didn't," he lied. 

Stan didn't dwell on it and moved on to another aisle. 

They bought their groceries, then took them back to the house and put the items away in their proper places. Stan then got started on breakfast, and Ford set the table. 

The twins ate together, Stan mostly providing conversation, though at some point, the topic traveled to what they were going to do for safety measures. 

"I don't like that we don't know what that Fiddlenerd guy had planned," Stan said, and Ford nodded absently. "Now, how many bats or other blunt objects do you have?" 

"Uh, not really a lot of blunt objects, but I have a gun." 

"We definitely need more items around the house for easy access, and the kitchen table ain't really the place for a gun. We need something by the door and probably by the bedroom doors and bathroom door as well, and by the entrance to your basement, and probably should fix the windows so people can't open them. Any smashing of windows will alert us that there's an intruder." 

Stan went into great detail about how they could protect the house from intruders, and Ford followed along, and Bill watched ever more. 

Bill had no reason to oppose this. Against his better judgement, he actually was liking this Stanley more than he had wanted to. He was clever and resourceful, but not so smart that he was picking up on signs that Fiddleford had picked up immediately. 

He still got a weird feeling around him, though. He didn't trust Stanley. 

But Bill wouldn't have to. 

They didn't work on the portal that day. They focused on cleaning up the house, and Stanley opted not to ask too many questions about Ford's scars and injuries when Ford shrugged his coat off after lunch. 

Ford had insisted on making dinner, and Bill laughed a bit as it became very clear Stan was the good cook between them. 

That night, Bill decided to sate some of his curiosity. 

Just who was Stan Pines? 

Instead of lowering himself into Ford's mind, he dove into Stanley's dreamscape. 

At first, he thought Stanley just didn't have dreams. 

But then he realized that both he and Stanley were stuck in a dark enclosed space. 

Ah, a nightmare. 

Stanley was punching and kicking against the roof of wherever they were, screaming all the while. 

"Hey, lemme help with that," Bill said. 

He clapped his hands, and the darkness disappeared. 

Instead, Bill now floated in a surprisingly gray and dank landscape, so much different from Stanford's swirls of space and techno-colored dreams. 

Stanley was still trying to catch his breath as he looked around at where they were. 

The car sat nearby, and Bill looked over at it. The trunk was open. Had they been stuck in the trunk? 

Stan shut it closed quickly, then looked around, trying to gain his bearings. 

There was so much clutter in the road and land around them, but Bill couldn't see any buildings or trees or anything like that. It was more like a junkyard. 

There was a swing set with one of the swings broken beyond repair, but that was the most interesting thing Bill could see. 

"Not very colorful in your noggin, is it?" Bill asked. 

"Who - who're you?" Stan asked, practically hugging the back of his car as he stared up at Bill. 

"I'm the new roommate! Name's Bill Cipher! So what's going on here? Got depression or something?" 

Stan glared at him. It seemed Bill had struck a nerve. 

"If you think you can psychoanalyze me, you can just fuck off!" 

Yup. Definitely a nerve. 

"Aw, c'mon! I'm not that bad! I just wanna talk!" 

"Nope. Not listening, nope nope nope!" 

Stan covered his ears, then started to wander off into the dreamscape. 

Bill stared after him. Silly human. He didn't need Stanley to figure this place out. 

Or . . . so he thought. 

The dreamscape ended up being so cluttered and disorganized that Bill had a hard time finding anything. No memories, no nothing. 

Everything in his brain was a mess. None of the clutter meant anything to Bill, either, so he couldn't even use any of it as a starting point. 

_Then_ Bill realized the clutter was moving around. 

He picked up on it when the swing set had switched places. 

Bill then tried to see if he could catch the clutter in the act, see what it was trying to hide. But it was too erratic, and the more Bill tried to use his powers to force it to reveal itself, the more it fought him. 

Whatever had happened to Stan Pines's brain, it made it very resistant to people unlocking its secrets. 

"This just got a little bit more interesting," Bill said to himself as he watched the unbroken swing start to move back and forth on its own.


	13. Chapter 13

The next day, Stan was rather tired at breakfast. Ford was used to exhaustion; it had been harder to stay asleep without Bill inside his dreams. He had gotten so used to it.... 

"How did you sleep?" Ford asked Stan. 

"Not too good. Kept having weird dreams...." 

"Weird?" 

"Yeah.... There was a weird triangle in it trying to psychoanalyze me. Load of bullshit." 

"Triangle?" 

"Mm-hm." 

Stan continued to eat the cereal in front of him, and Ford frowned. 

"Did . . . he say what his name was?" 

Stan swallowed. 

"What's it matter what his name was?" 

"Well . . . sometimes supernatural creatures can enter your dreams." 

Stan straightened up in his chair a bit. 

"He said his name was Bill Cipher. Is that somebody to worry about?" 

Ford smiled at him. 

"No, no.... Bill is a friend. He wouldn't hurt anybody," Ford said. His smile looked a little off, but Stan couldn't pinpoint why. Maybe he was just tired. "Fiddleford hadn't liked him much, but he's harmless, and he's been a great help with the research." 

"Oh. So when he said new roommate, that meant he lives here?" 

"Yes! Yes, Bill lives here. He's floating around as we speak, actually. You might be able to catch his shadow here and there. Though I haven't quite figured out _how_ he casts that shadow...." 

"Hm.... Well, uh, hi, Bill. Nice to meet you." 

Ford's smile widened. 

"And, uh, sorry about the first meeting. I mean, you're a triangle, I was asleep, dreams are weird.... You know how that is, right?" 

"He does," Ford assured him. "He's not offended. He finds you interesting." 

"I hope it's a good kind of interesting," Stan said, forcing a smile, but it felt incredibly uncomfortable on his face. 

He felt uncomfortable. 

He didn't like that this . . . thing could just drop itself into his head. He didn't want anyone rooting around in his brain. 

It had been difficult enough the first time.


	14. Chapter 14

For a while, things went as normally as they had been going since Stanley moved in. Ford got to talk aloud to Bill more often, and that took some getting used to. Stanley wished he could hear the triangle when they were all awake. He wished he knew exactly what Bill was saying. 

Sometimes Stanley would ask, and he'd get the feeling Ford was censoring some of what Bill said. 

It gave Stanley a bad feeling, but he didn't voice it or act on it. Not yet. 

He still didn't really know what Bill _was_ and there was no telling when they were actually alone and when they weren't, and Stan wasn't about to piss off something that he couldn't see and couldn't predict, especially when it could just jump into his brain and mess around with things in there. 

That was the one thing Stan really, really hated about Bill. Even though Bill had only done it the one time. 

It still really put him on edge. 

One day - about a month had passed - Bill seemed to have gotten tired of not having as much "fun" as he wanted. 

"No, Bill," Ford said. Stan looked over at Ford, really wishing he could hear Bill's end of the conversation yet again. 

" _No_ , and I mean it. I know you're getting impatient, but I'd rather not . . . it didn't go well when Fiddleford was here, and I want Stanley to stay. We can't - no, I mean it! We're not doing it! You can't make me change my mind!" 

"Everything okay?" Stan asked. 

Ford looked over at Stanley, as though only just realizing that he was there. 

"Y-yes, everything's fine. We're fine," Ford said. 

Stan grunted, then pretended to go back to what he was doing. 

He could still hear them arguing (though it sounded like Ford was arguing with himself). 

Ford's stance on whatever they were talking about seemed to be weakening over time, and Stan really wished he knew if he should intervene or not. 

"Bill, please. It's not a good time -" 

Then Ford flinched and hunched his shoulders, body language Stan recognized from when their father would yell at them. 

"Hey! What's going on over there?" Stan called over, getting up and walking over to Ford. 

Ford looked at Stan sheepishly. 

Bill seemed to still be yelling, but Ford waited a while before answering. 

"Bill and I used to do a . . . thing, but it can be disturbing for other people to witness.... It's ultimately the reason Fiddleford left, and I just . . . I don't _actually_ mind it, personally, but I don't...." 

"Then he's gotta respect that no means no and fuck off," Stan said. 

"But he really misses it, and it has been a really long time...." Ford said, chewing his bottom lip. 

Stan sighed. 

"Do you actually wanna do it and just don't want me around to see it?" Stan asked. 

Ford looked up at Stan and took a while to answer, but he nodded. 

"Then I'll duck out for a few hours. It won't take longer than a movie showing, will it?" 

"I . . . I don't think so, no," Ford said. 

"Then I'll see ya in a few hours. Don't hurt yourselves or break anything." 

Stan grabbed Ford's wallet, pocketed it, then ducked out of the house, just as he had suggested. 

Ford took a few deep breaths, and he allowed himself to look as miserable as he felt. 

"Okay, Bill. Go ahead." 

Stan did indeed go to see a movie - John Carpenter's The Thing - and walked back to the Shack afterwards. While he'd ordinarily bemoan the fact that he had spent money on the ticket and snacks, he had really enjoyed the outing. He deserved a little treat for himself, and since he was apparently allowing Ford and Bill to treat themselves to . . . whatever it was they were doing, Stan didn't feel bad about it at all. 

Stan got back to the Shack, then knocked on the front door to give them fair warning. He then opened the front door. 

"Ford! Bill! I'm back! You should probably see The Thing when you get a chance!" 

Stanley walked further into the house, then got the strangest feeling he had just walked into a horror movie and he was the protagonist. 

"Ford?" Stan called. 

He heard a crash in the kitchen, then went to investigate. 

Stan's eyes widened, his jaw dropping, as he saw Ford sitting atop the kitchen table, a knife in his hand, and his body all cut up and bleeding. The blood rolled down his forearms and chest, staining his pants and the table. 

His eyes were glowing yellow. 

"Thanks for the fun, Moonshine!" Bill said. "But I'm afraid I ain't done yet!" 

Bill giggled, kicking Ford's legs back and forth, like an excited little kid. 

Stan didn't know what to do. He was frozen in place. 

"F-Ford?" Stan asked. 

"Nope! This is Bill speaking!" 

Bill then laughed maniacally. 

"Pain is hilarious!" 

Stan didn't know what to do. The only thing he really knew to do was grab the first aid kit. 

His brain was searching for ways to get rid of Bill. But he was a Jewish guy from New Jersey who hadn't really done much religion stuff since his bar mitzvah. He wasn't even sure he knew what Bill _was_. 

What was he gonna do, and how was he gonna help Ford? 

"C-Cut it out!" Stan said when he returned with the kit and Bill was cutting Ford's flesh again. 

"Aww, c'mon! I've been waiting _weeks_ to be able to do this again!" 

"Weeks? Wait . . . are you the one who hurt Ford's hand?" 

"Looks like you're not so dumb after all!" 

Bill laughed more. Stan gripped the first aid kit angrily. 

"Relax, kid! Ford likes it! Don't you, Sixer?" 

"Don't call him that! That's my name for him!" 

Bill just laughed again, then all of a sudden, Bill's laughter cut out and Stan could tell that it was Ford. 

Ford took in the look on Stan's face and the first aid kit, then hesitantly looked down at himself. 

Ford's frown tore into his face, the shame almost palpable. 

"I didn't want you to see this - !" Ford hissed out. 

Stan approached Ford and started to patch him up. 

He didn't know what else to do.


	15. Chapter 15

When Stan was done helping Ford get bandaged up, Ford looked an awful lot like he was part-mummy. 

Stan didn't know what to say. Neither did Ford. They sat in the kitchen in silence as Stan went about cleaning the kitchen up. 

There was so much blood in the kitchen now.... 

"Did you like your movie?" Ford eventually asked. 

"Huh?" 

"Did you like your movie?" 

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, it's a good one...." 

"You said I should see it when I get a chance, right?" 

"Yeah...." 

"I think I will, then.... Eventually." 

"Right...." 

Stan chewed on his bottom lip. He needed a plan.... He needed a plan....

He thought back to some things that had happened while he was in a particular prison. 

He didn't know what Bill was, perhaps, but . . . he was pretty sure he knew someone who did. 

Stan let Ford be alone for the night, but in the morning, he put together breakfast and resolved to ask Ford some questions. 

"Can I ask you some stuff about Bill?" Stan asked. 

Ford hesitated, then nodded. 

"Sure." 

"How'd you two meet again?" 

"He, uh, came to me in a dream." 

"What were you doing before that?" 

"I . . . I was reading in the forest...." 

"And?" 

"Um.... Before that, I had gone into the caverns and . . . looked upon some cave markings left by the native people of the region long ago.... There's . . . information about Bill on the cave wall, all in the native people's language...." 

Stan took note of that as he chewed his food. 

"Okay." 

Ford waited for more, but that's all Stan asked him. 

"Was that all?" Ford asked. 

"Yup." 

"Really? I . . . I'd've thought . . . ." 

"Well, you don't really know what he is, either, right? You've told me everything you know about his powers and stuff, right?" 

"Yes...." 

Stan knew Ford was a terrible liar, so he knew Ford was telling the truth. 

"Then there's not much else to ask about. I already know you two have some kind of . . . BDSM or whatever thing goin' on, so...." 

Ford flushed. 

"It's not sexual," he said firmly. 

"But . . . ?" Stan prompted. 

Ford hesitated. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue and just looked . . . sadder. 

Stan frowned, but he didn't say anything more. 

"Where were you napping, when he met you?" Stan asked. 

"Um. . . . Against a tree just on the border of the forest, around the east side of the house...." 

"'Kay. I'm gonna explore a bit. Are you okay by yourself for a while?" Stan asked. 

"I . . . I think so," Ford said. "Lots of work to do on the portal, and Bill, more or less, has had his fix...." 

Stan grunted, then got up and walked out. Ford furrowed his eyebrows. That was . . . very odd for Stanley.... 

It certainly had gotten Bill's attention. 

Bill followed Stanley out to the edge of the woods on the east side. Stanley saw that a lot of the trees had knots in them that sort of looked like eyes. Stanley sat on the forest floor, then leaned his back against one of the trees with an eye-like knot on it. He then closed his eyes and waited. Soon, Stanley had fallen asleep. 

Bill was very, very curious as to what was going on in his brain. And this seemed like the perfect opportunity to investigate. 

Humans were so interesting, Bill had realized. He had no idea what his plan had been when he first came through into Stanford's mind. He still had no memories as to what it was he was doing there, though he had felt on the edge of remembering a few times.... But humans were so interesting to play with, it almost didn't matter to Bill. 

Almost. 

He entered Stanley's mind, and . . . it looked a lot different from before. 

It was _fascinating_. 

If incredibly concerning. 

Bill had a feeling that it was an indication that Stanley Pines had a much stronger mind than Stanford did - he had a feeling this was something he had seen very rarely before, but he had no memory of where else he could've seen this before. 

Somehow, he knew that an ever-changing mindscape was rare and was evident that something about Stanley Pines was very, very different from most humans Bill would ever encounter. 

The mindscape now had a lot less concrete imagery. It was like he was in a floating board room, and Stanley was sitting at the head of the conference table, though wearing his same disgusting hoodie and homeless-man jeans. 

"So you like pain, do you?" Stanley asked. 

"Yes. Yes I do!" Bill said, seeing no reason not to admit to it. It wasn't like Stanley was actually a threat, even if his mindscape indicated he was . . . different. 

Stan gave him a smirk, and Bill could almost smell the mean-spiritedness attached to it. Which was funny, 'cause Bill knew he didn't have the capacity to smell anything! 

"Then I think you'll get a kick outta this," Stan said. 

The black nothingness around them suddenly changed, and it was like Bill and Stan and the conference table and chairs were hovering in a surrounding IMAX screen. 

It was a memory of Stan's, and it was edited and splicing together instances from different time periods of Stan's. 

But there was a flash of an electric chair, some form of torture involving water, Stan being thrown in a trunk, burning cigarettes being pressed into Stan's skin, and the sound of Stan's screaming made the air shake. Bill could feel himself vibrating. Image upon image of every instance of pain that Stan had felt in the course of his life - many of it inflicted by others, but sometimes it was inflicted by himself - until all of a sudden, they were plunged back into the previous darkness. 

"Think Ford's been through any of that?" 

"What's your point?" Bill said. 

"My point - Ford's a lightweight." 

Stan stood up and climbed onto the table and walked down it, approaching Bill. 

"I've been through a lot more and can tolerate a lot more pain that he can - and thus won't complain nearly as much as he does." 

Stan reached the edge of the table and stepped down off it, in front of Bill. 

"You'd be able to get a lot more out of my body than Sixer's." 

"What would you get out of it?" Bill asked. 

Stan's smirk grew, and Bill wondered for a moment if he was really talking to the same man he and Ford had been sharing the house with for the past month or so. 

"You really think you're the only one who likes pain?" 

Bill stared at Stanley for a long moment, then he started to laugh. 

"You're a riot, Moonshine!" 

"The only condition is that you don't hurt Ford anymore," Stan said. "You can hurt me however you want as long as you don't hurt Ford no more." 

"Deal!" Bill said, putting his hand out to shake. 

Stan took it, and Bill's hand lit up blue. 

This was going to be so much fun! Bill thought. 

Stan kept his mind blank until he awoke and knew Bill couldn't hear his thoughts. 

He could see an outline of Bill now, he noticed. 

That was good. Now he'd know if Bill was watching when he found time to make a necessary phone call.


End file.
